


Shattered

by gingerink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Brocedes, Bulimia, Cutting, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not a nice fic, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerink/pseuds/gingerink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico and Lewis used to be something, a long time ago; now they're just picking up the pieces. Nico watches Lewis fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a nice fic, at all. I just wanted to explore another avenue that I feel isn't touched on much in this fandom - I will warn again for elements of self-harm and bulimia, especially if these are triggering to you. This fic is an ugly one but it was one that I enjoyed writing because I felt it gave me something that I feel is important; that the world is not always what it seems, that people are fragile, that life hurts.
> 
> This was an idea that myself and Lis thought about when we discussed why Lewis's hair was blonde, this is the result.

Nico hears the shattering glass at around four o’ clock that morning. He slides himself out of bed, careful not to wake Vivian and their newborn baby.  He gently knocks on Lewis’s front door, there’s no answer. He hesitates for a moment; Lewis hadn’t been around for weeks on end, it was almost as though he was afraid to come back, to see Nico happy. Nico knew Lewis – he’s always known Lewis better than anyone – better than himself sometimes.  
  
He knows that Lewis loves him more than a friend – he’s seen the brown eyes fall on him when he thinks he’s not looking, the hunger, the desire, whenever Nico pulled his overalls off. Lewis’s fingers always seem to linger – his touch too, he always holds onto Nico for a little longer, his finger ghosts at Nico’s skin, at Nico’s back.  
  
It’s almost as though he’s trying to hold onto Nico, hold onto what they had. Nico and Lewis used to have something, when they were teenagers, back in the karting days, when they both weren’t sure of themselves. Nico remembers Lewis pressing their lips together, when they were fifteen, when Nico wasn’t sure what love was. Their lips ghosted against one another, fingertips fall over skin, mapping out every inch. They end up pressed between the sheets, losing their virginity to each other, Nico smiles as Lewis brushes his lips over his pale skin.  


* * *

  
  
However, it doesn’t last, it can’t last – Nico meets Vivian. Vivian is everything Lewis isn’t – blonde, soft curves instead of hard edges, wide smiles. She smiles at him and he loses his heart there and then – she’s everything he’s ever wanted, he loves her almost immediately. He introduces her to Lewis – he watches Lewis’s smile fall from his face, his hands shake. Vivian smiles at him, he smiles back, but its fake, it doesn’t reach his eyes. He hates her, Nico knows that immediately – he’s like a coiled viper waiting to strike. Vivian however, is warm, patient and kind to him. It’s almost like she knows – they’re in love with the same man, how can she not notice? Lewis is still cold to her – hoping to push her away, from him, from them. But Vivian stays, Nico presses her into the sheets instead of Lewis. Blonde hair covers the other pillow instead of black, soft curves underneath him instead of hard muscle, lipstick across his cheek.  
  
He notices the change in Lewis; the longer Vivian says with him, he notices the weight fall off Lewis, his jeans seem to be looser on him. Nico can count Lewis’s ribs, he notices the lip caught between teeth, he notices Lewis hiding his body away under loose t-shirts. The bracelet that Nico got him is too big for him. Nico notices the new overalls Lewis is sporting, they look enormous. His cheeks are sunken, he seems to be losing himself.  
  
Nico walks into the bathroom after the race, his lips still taste of Vivian, her lipgloss smeared over his cheek when he hears the familiar sound of retching. He hears a familiar groan of pain. He glances down at the gap between the toilet cubicle, his heart stops when he sees a familiar pair of white Pumas, a familiar white and teal jumpsuit, a dark-skinned hand on the tiled floor.  
  
“Lewis?” He asks, almost tentatively.  
  
There’s a long pause. “Nico?”  
  
“Lewis, I’m coming in-“ Nico pushes the door open, the sight in front of him makes his heart stop.  
  
Lewis is bent over the toilet bowl, vomit in the corner of his mouth. However, it’s the vomit still clinging to his fingers that makes Nico’s chest ache. He falls to his knees in front of his best friend.  
  
“What have you done?”  
  
“Nothing,” Lewis’s voice is hoarse, his eyes wide, his pupils are dilated. “I just felt sick-“  
  
“Lewis-“ Nico whispers, his hand ghosts over Lewis’s. He tries to ignore the flinch, how hard Lewis feels against him, the smear of vomit on the corner of his lips.  


* * *

  
  
Nico focuses on Vivian, she moves into his apartment in Monaco. Lewis gets thinner if it’s possible, he shrinks inside his overalls. Nico sometimes catches him coming out of the garage, still tiny, still gaunt, thin, pale, all hard edges – he wonders if there’s anything left of the Lewis he used to know – the Mercedes overalls are baggy, his cheeks are sunken but it’s Lewis’s eyes that hurt Nico the most – they’re dead, he doesn’t look at Nico anymore.  
  
Nico sometimes hears Lewis retching in his bathroom when he’s shaving, he tries to ignore it, tries to listen to Vivian’s gentle voice. He brushes his teeth, he spits out the foam into the sink. Lewis spits into the toilet, his hands wrapped around the porcelain and his ribs on show, under the lights.  He still doesn’t go to him – he ignores it, he wraps his arms around Vivian, presses his nose into her shoulder, inhales the sweet smell of her, her soft blonde hair brushing against his skin. He tries not to think about Lewis a few feet away, wrapped around the toilet, no arms to comfort him, no kisses brushing against his pale face – Nicole is long gone, walked out of his life months ago. Lewis leans his face against the bowl, tears fall down his cheeks, his hand falls to his stomach. He can feel every rib poking out – but it’s still not enough.  
  
Nico catches Lewis asleep, sprawled across one of the sofas in the Mercedes motorhome. His overalls are pressed around his waist, he looks tiny, almost fragile, like he might break at any moment. The purple circles are dark under his eyes; almost like bruises, like the darkness curling inside him. Nico pauses for a moment, watching his teammate sleep. His brow is furrowed; his skin is pale, his cheeks gaunt. However, Nico spots something that makes his blood freeze. There’s a smear of red on Lewis’s white fireproofs, just above the crook of his elbow. Nico kneels down and gently pulls up Lewis’s sleeve. His green eyes fall on a cut, still bloody, a thin line, horizontal, marring Lewis’s dark skin.  
  
Nico drops Lewis’s hand, fighting back the nausea. He couldn’t do it to himself; could he? Was he that sick of himself? Nico takes a deep breath; Lewis’s arm is still resting against the side of the couch. Nico blinks. The cut still stands out on Lewis’s arm. Nico feels the tears prick the corners of his eyes.  
  
“Why are you doing this, Lew?” Nico whispers, swiping at his eyes.  
  
Lewis sleeps on. Nico walks away, pressing his hands through his hair. He thinks of nothing but the red against Lewis’s dark skin, how furrowed his brow is. He wonders when everything went so wrong, when Lewis started doing this to himself. He climbs out of his cockpit after the practise, his head is swimming. He thinks about Lewis’s skin, marked with red, crosses of red – split open, pain, hurt, guilt, Lewis sitting on the floor of his bathroom, the blood staining the white tiles – red marring the white, Lewis watching the blood drip down his arms, over his fingertips. Vivian’s lips feel numb against his own – almost like ash – he feels brown eyes on his own, he catches Lewis watching as he pulls away from Vivian. He presses a hand through her hair, a kiss to her lips once more – Lewis scratches at his arm. Nico imagines seeing the blood under his fingernails, clinging to his race suit – but nobody will notice it, nobody but Nico.  


* * *

  
  
Nico asks Vivian to marry him. He gets down on one knee, with the shiny gold ring. She smiles, press a kiss to his chapped lips, whispers the yes against his skin, mixing with his tears. Nico thinks about how happy he is, how he feels his heart is going to burst when he looks at his fiancé. He smiles when he looks at the silver band decorating Vivian’s long, elegant fingers.  
  
He tells Lewis at the next race, he smile as he shows off his engagement ring.  He watches Lewis’s face crumple, his eyes seem to darken as he takes in Nico’s pale finger, marred by the silver ring. He thinks about Vivian – still in their lives – and how Nico is tied down to her.  
  
“Well, man, I hope you and Vivian are happy.” Lewis says, his voice is low. Nico pretends he didn’t hear his voice crack on Vivian’s name.  
  
“Thanks, Lew.” Nico whispers, he pulls Lewis into a hug.  
  
He pretends not to feel the Brit stiffen against him, he pretends he doesn’t feel how thin Lewis is. He imagines the cuts on Lewis’s arms, just underneath his overalls, he wonders if they hurt Lewis – if he’s done anymore. Lewis rests his head against Nico’s shoulder, his hair tickles Nico’s chin. Nico pulls away after a moment, Lewis’s fingers linger on his arm. Nico just smiles, he ignores the pleading look in Lewis’s eyes.

* * *

  
They continue on, through 2014, Nico watches Lewis fade away. He grasps victory in Monza, in Singapore, in Japan. Nico watches him – still tiny in his baggy overalls, holding the trophy aloft at the races.  His smile is plastered on, it looks fake, it looks forced. Nico watches him from the second step, his green eyes focused on how thin Lewis is, how fragile he looks. He waits for the end of the race, his fingers wind around Lewis’s wrist – too thin, it hurts – Nico can feel the bones in Lewis’s wrists. He bites his lip as brown eyes gaze into his own green ones. Lewis looks tired, bone dead tired; the circles under his eyes are almost black, his hair is mussed, he’s skinny, all sharp edges, like steel. It hurts Nico to see him like this. He watches Lewis’s eyes skim over the silver ring on his finger, they look hurt, almost destroyed. Lewis smiles at Nico, his smile is fake. It hurts Nico. Nico knows that Lewis doesn’t want to see the ring on Nico’s finger – but he pushed him away, he did this to them. Lewis goes back to his apartment, alone. Nico’s fingers ghost over Vivian’s. Lewis hears Vivian’s laughter. He presses the blade against the crook of his arm, gasping in pain. He glances at himself in the mirror and laughs.  
  
  
Nico remembers when Vivian waved the stick in front of him, it was a month after Lewis had won the Championship, when he’d pressed Lewis up against the wall brushing their lips together – he remembers how desperate Lewis seemed, he clung to Nico’s t-shirt, his fingernails dug into the soft material. Lewis still has the trophy gleaming away in his apartment, people wanting to interview him every five minutes.  
  
Nico hears Lewis climb up the stairs – the shuffle of his designer shoes against the smooth white tiles, the turn of the key in the lock. Nico wants to go to him – check if he’s okay, he hasn’t spoken to Lewis since the night he won the title, since that night he pressed their lips together, when his thumb rubbed over Lewis’s cheek – collecting the tears onto his calloused skin. He doesn’t go to see Lewis – he stays with Vivian, stays with his wife – they got married during the break. Lewis was invited but Nico had received the invitation back with the no scribbled in, harder than he expected. He notices the tear marks on the ivory card, the slight smear of blood on the back. Vivian doesn’t ask question, she places a hand over his arm, almost comforting, her blue eyes locked on him. Nico crumples up the card into a ball.  


* * *

  
  
“Vivian is pregnant.” Nico says to Lewis.  
  
It’s just after the New Year, fireworks are exploding into the dark air. Nico is hosting a New Year party, it’s something that he and Vivian do year after year. He was surprised that Lewis showed up ; he looks gaunt in his brand new white suit, a new tattoo poking out from his sweaty collarbone, hat pulled onto his head. Lewis doesn’t say anything, his eyes are dark, they seem to shatter. He bites his lip, Nico watches Lewis fall apart. He just smiles at the dark skinned man, the man who used to be his everything. Lewis glances over to where Vivian is sitting down, there’s the beginnings of a bump – the beginnings of Nico’s baby – just another reminder that they could never work, they never would work.  
  
“Congratulations, Nico. You must be very happy.” Lewis says, the _without me_ hangs in the air, unsaid.  
  
“I am happy.” Nico replies.  
  
“I’m glad.” Lewis whispers. He looks even more broken if it were possible. His eyes look like all the light has been extinguished from them. Nico bites his lip and nods. Lewis doesn’t say anything else.  
  
Nico watches Lewis down glass after glass of champagne after that.  


* * *

  
  
Nico doesn’t see Lewis until they arrive in Melbourne. He remembers sometimes flicking through Lewis’s Instagram – looking at his fake smile, it’s too over stretched – he’s still losing weight and there’s always a sweatband around his wrist. Nico sighs heavily as he places his phone on the side, he curls himself around Vivian, his hand moving to brush over her stomach, over the bump – it’s larger now. Lewis seems different – he seems to have hardened over the break – he’s still thin, all sharp edges but there’s a new glint in his eyes.There’s a sense of determination – they’re almost black as he climbs into his shiny new Mercedes. Nico watches Lewis post the fastest lap times of the weekend, he gets the pole – he smiles afterwards, it’s almost dangerous. His eyes flash. Nico watches him from the second step, he looks different from here – unstable, almost wild. He lifts his fist in the air, the cheers echo through the air.  
  
It doesn’t stop there; Lewis continues his run – he smashes through the record books, taking away every pole position from underneath Nico’s nose – he smiles as he does so. It’s an almost Cheshire cat smile, it doesn’t suit him – it looks fake, wrong, twisted. He holds up every trophy, throws it up into the air, his skin sweaty, his ribs still prominent. Nico wonders if it’s his way of coping. He sees the bandages poking out of the crook of Lewis’s elbow and he knows the answer to his question. He chooses to ignore Lewis’s behaviour – he ignores the sudden influx of social media, rubbing shoulders with every celebrity, he ignores the glint in Lewis’s eyes from across the garage. He focuses on the figures in front of him. He can’t help but think that Lewis has a new obsession, something he is enraptured with instead of Nico. He bites back the disappointment, tugs on his gloves, he catches Vivian’s eye from the back of the garage, headset on, hand on her bump. He feels hollow as he watches Lewis leave the garage.

* * *

  
Lewis never seems to come home anymore, he’s in New York, he’s in Barbados, his apartment remains silent, Nico thinks as he walks past the door on his way back from the supermarket. Lewis does all of his talking on the track now – his foot pressing down against Nico’s jugular as he flounders, trying to adjust to becoming a father. He and Vivian painted the nursery a few weeks after Silverstone. Lewis won that race – his eyes glinted, they seemed to bring him back to life, drag him back to the surface. He’s still skinny, still living on the edge – Nico still sees the bandages, the drops of blood on his white overalls. He feels Lewis’s ribs as he presses him into a hug, Lewis still tenses against him, his eyes are wide, his hands don’t cling to Nico like they used to.  
  
It all comes to a head just before Italy, Nico’s finger hovers over the call button, Lewis’s name on his screen. He’s a father, his beautiful daughter fast asleep in Vivian’s arms.  Lewis is in New York somewhere, he’s got a new tattoo – it’s stark against his dark skin, the feathers stretching up over his neck. Nico thinks about Lewis, he wonders about if the Brit even cares about his daughter – Lewis had stayed away, the bigger Vivian got. It was almost like it was a reminder to him – a constant reminder of the love they had, the love they lost. Nico puts his phone down, he returns to Vivian. He holds their daughter in his arms, feels the rush of love as he looks down at her – takes in her dainty little features, Vivian’s little nose, his almond shaped eyes, they’re closed hidden by dark blonde eyelashes.  
  
“You’re beautiful.” He whispers. He smiles.  
  
He doesn’t think about Lewis at all.  
  
They bring her home the next day. They bump into Lewis unlocking his front door. Nico watches his shoulders seize up, his eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Nico and Vivian, the bundle in Vivian’s arms, wrapped in a pink blanket – when she was unborn, in Vivian’s stomach, it was easy to pretend that she wouldn’t change anything. But she has – Lewis spins around, pasting on a fake smile. Vivian smiles back – she knows, she knows the hurt he feels – Lewis’s eyes lock on the baby.  
  
“She’s beautiful.” He whispers, his voice cracks on the last word. He smiles once more. “Congratulations, guys. She’s wonderful. She will make you very happy.”  


* * *

  
  
He’s holding it together – barely, Nico can see him unravelling. He’s seen it for a while – Lewis has replaced Nico with winning, he’s addicted to it again and it hurts. Lewis glances at him, his eyes look dark, they look tired. Nico watches him smile once more before he turns on his heel and closes his front door. Vivian bites her lip as she hears the sob a few seconds later. Nico doesn’t say anything, he guides her into their apartment, their daughter still asleep in his wife’s arms.  
  
Nico hears the shatter of the glass, he carefully slips out of the bed, careful not to wake Vivian. He opens the door to Lewis’s apartment, he carefully picks his way inside. It’s dark inside his apartment – Roscoe ends up brushing against Nico’s leg – he’s panting ever so slightly. Nico rubs his hand over the bulldog who gives him a comforting sniff.  
  
“Lewis?” Nico calls out, he keeps his voice soft, quiet.  
  
There’s no answer, there’s only the quiet panting of the bulldog by his feet. Nico picks his way into the apartment – his shoes barely make any sound against the carpet. He pauses outside the bathroom door – it’s the only room with any light on – there’s a thin line of golden light dancing across the hallway. Nico hears light, muffled sobbing. His heart aches as he calls out Lewis’s name once more. He gently pushes open the bathroom door and sees a sight that makes his heart stop. Lewis is lying on the floor of the bathroom, slumped against the sink. The mirror above the sink is shattered, the pieces glitter on the floor, in Lewis’s knuckles – there’s blood smeared all over his hands, up his arms. His eyes are wide, his hair is no longer black, it’s a shock of blonde.  
  
Nico glances around – he sees the empty peroxide bottle, the gloves thrown onto the floor, in amongst the glass. Lewis is still sniffling, he’s almost panting – there’s tears pouring down his cheeks, his hands are fisted into his newly blonde hair – tugging hard on the curls.  
  
“Lewis,” Nico whispers, his eyes wide.  
  
Lewis freezes, his breathing speeds up – he inhales rapidly, his chest seizing with panic. Nico drops down, kneeling in front of Lewis. Lewis doesn’t look at him – his eyes are glazed, his hands shining with glass and blood – red against the white of his hair, it looks wrong, not quite right – Lewis never looks quite right anymore – his new tattoo scabbing against his neck.  
  
“Lewis, look at me.” Nico whispers, his eyes fixed on the Brit.  
  
Lewis shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut, his hands still fixed in his hair. “Just leave me alone, just leave me, everybody else does-“  
  
“Lew-“ Nico whispers, he feels wetness falling down his cheeks. “Can I help?” He asks.  
  
Lewis looks ready to snap – Lewis doesn’t say anything, he flinches slightly as Nico’s hands gently pull his hands away from his hair. Nico catches the _what have you done_ from slipping from his mouth. Lewis is vulnerable, he’s hurting – he’s all jagged edges, he’s hurt, anger, guilt, frustration – his thumb gently rubs over the drying blood on Lewis’s wrists.  
  
He doesn’t say anything else, he swallows heavily, his mouth is dry. Lewis looks at him finally – his eyes look dead, broken – his face is sunken and pale, his hair bright blonde. He looks strange – nothing like the Lewis that he remembers, that Lewis used to smile, he used to laugh, he used to brush his fingers against Nico’s, a kiss against his temple.  
Nico feels Lewis grab hold of his shirt, his fingernails twisting into the fabric, a smear of blood against the fabric. Nico doesn’t say anything – he lets Lewis fall against him, lets him give into his feelings – the tears dampen his shirt. The sobs break Nico’s heart. He wonders if it could be different – if they could be together, if they hadn’t been so determined to catch their dreams. He looks at Lewis, looks at the scars twisting down his arms, feels his ribs poking out of his ribcage, he barely recognises the Brit anymore.  
He still loves Lewis – he always will, it’s not something you can get rid of – he runs his fingers over Lewis’s hands, wary of the glass still embedded in his skin. He doesn’t say anything – there’s nothing he can say to make this better. Lewis stays in his arms, not blinking. Nico watches him, he thinks about what they’ve become, how they can never go back.  
  
They’re broken, it was never meant to be.


End file.
